Transfixed in Transfiguration
by TMTF
Summary: Transfixed with a certain red-headed beauty sitting just ahead, how does ANYONE expect James Potter to concentrate during class? The slightly strange, nostalgic thoughts of a bored teenage wizard.  LxJ One-shot.


**Hi, world! So for those of you who have read anything I've written before, I'm sorry that it's been…well, forever since we've communicated. I have no excuse. ):**

**But whether you know me or not, I've decided to upload a James & Lily fic, because they are some of my absolute favorites to read.(:**

**I wrote this entire thing one night in late '09 without any forethought, and it just sort of evolved into this. It was creepy at first – oh WOW was this shit creepy – but I've hopefully turned that down a notch or ten and have made it into something somewhat presentable. **

**I hope you enjoy! :)**

James Potter sat transfixed in his Transfiguration class, a certain redheaded beauty relaxing in the chair directly in front of him. Her hair was down and all of it pushed to one shoulder, leaving the right side of her neck completely exposed for his viewing pleasure.

Lily Evans was a Seventh Year, just like James. They had a platonic relationship (to say the _very_ least) and seemed to enjoy one another's company as much as one can after seven years. Like most Gryffindors, Lily was fun, energetic and liked by most, but unlike most Gryffindors, she had a temper that could send even the bravest Hippogriff running to the hills. James (along with the rest of the school, really) had learned that being on the bad side of Lily Evans was not exactly an ideal location if someone wanted to remain standing upright and intact, but over the years he had learned that bantering (if you could call the-less-than-playful arguments) with her was indeed a very fun thing to do.

You see, for the last three or so years, James has been completely enamored with Lily; he loved the way her face flushed with excitement during a truly passionate row, and was rather enthralled with the fact that even after one, he could make her tinge pink with embarrassment at the drop of a hat. He enjoyed her display of terrible sportsmanship when she lost a truly heated game of Wizard's Chess, and the way she wasn't afraid to put anybody in his or her place. He respected that she was comfortable with just being her, but could still never quite resist the urge to pick fun at her constant need to control everything.

James stared at the small expanse of exposed shoulder as Professor McGonagall continued to drone on about something no doubt important, but boring. He watched as Lily Evans would roll her neck to get the kinks out or scratch her collarbone or tug on her ear just a little when she whispered to a friend sitting close by.

About halfway through the class, James noticed an attentive Lily playing with the ends of her hair. She would finger the strands gently with both hands as she listened and would twirl it and place it behind her right ear when she found it necessary to write something down, absentmindedly picking it back up again when her notes were satisfactory. Every time she did this, the small wave of hair would rest delicately behind her ear, only long enough to reach to a pretty little pattern the size of a dime that was virtually unnoticeable unless one was looking for it. The mark intrigued him, and it seemed as if he would like to look at nothing else for the rest of his life.

"Mr. Potter?" McGonagall questioned. "Would you like to stop staring a hole in the back of Miss Evans and pay attention to the lesson?"

James looked at her, mortified, while the rest of the class burst into fits of giggles. The two tables in front of him turned to face him, with the exception of the beautiful Lily Evans, whose hands had now stilled with playing with her hair and whose once pale neck was now flushed with the oh-so-common deep pink of discomfort.

James looked from Lily to Professor McGonagall wordlessly and nodded in affirmation to the teacher. He grabbed his quill and scribbled little lines on his parchment. McGonagall returned to teaching, and James refused to return the quill to its resting place.

Every few moments he would look up from his now doodled-on parchment to check the status of Lily and her bright-pink neck. As the minutes ticked by, the flush went away and she resumed playing with the strand of hair she seemed to be so fond of. James looked back down to his parchment for several moments' times before returning to stare at the little swirling pattern of Lily Evans's tattoo.

As the end of class was nearing and the hour drawing to a close, the familiar orchestration of rustling parchment and impatiently tapping quills filled the classroom as the students began to taste the first inklings of afternoon freedom. James did not rustle his parchment or clip his quill on the desk, nor did he rap his knuckles on his skull or begin drawing on the sides of his textbook, for he was once again busied with the time-consuming task of staring straight ahead. The school bell chimed twice before the students had gotten their bags packed to leave, and the young man with the raven-black hair and glasses was still in a daze. Only after a certain witch tapped him on the shoulder did he rise from his stupor and begin placing his worthless parchment and texts into his bag, and only then did he realize he had gotten nothing out of the lesson but quirky little things that Lily Evans did when she was in class.

He walked in silence with the redheaded witch to the Great Hall for lunch, making sure to keep her just in front of him on his left side so he could glance oh-so-subtly at her barely-there pattern of ink. He watched once again as her hand would occasionally rise to scratch behind her ear or run through her hair, and would look ahead of him only when he would be caught shamelessly staring.

"What?" she giggled after catching him for the fourth time. "What do you keep looking at?"

James smiled a little and ran his hand through his thick hair. "You, Miss Evans, have got a wonderfully enticing neck."

Her face flushed again and she returned her eyes to the corridor in front of her.

"Bugger off, Potter," she said with a laugh. "You're so strange."

James smirked at Lily and watched as she blushed for the second time that day. As they continued their journey down the corridor, he saw her hand move to loosen her hair from her shoulder, concealing the little flower behind her ear from his line of vision. And James knew that even though staring was just a tad bit creepy, he would continue to remember the pressure of her fingers around his as she attempted to squeeze the pain of the needle away, and how every time she touched it, she smiled a small, knowing smile to herself. He would think about the apologies he endured after Lily had realized that she was holding on to him just a smidge too tight and that yes, it did hurt, but no he was fine, and he would always remember the brilliant smile she gave him the first time she saw it.

James allowed himself to get lost in his little memories, wondering whatever possessed Lily Evans to take him along to a Muggle tattoo parlor, completely sober and willing to put up with his company. He would feel just the tad bit self conscious that she would regret it, until, perhaps, the next Transfiguration lesson, when James would no doubt be sitting directly behind her, staring at the beautifully enchanting, wonderfully transfixing neck of Lily Evans, hoping beyond hope that that beautiful, blooming lily blossom of hers was a sign of things to come.

**Please review if you feel the need to, and as always:**

**Much love!**** x3**


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